I awoke at dawn, my body aching from being encased in the armchair. As I got up I heard the grinding of two or three cogs in my anatomy. I dragged myself to the window and opened it wide. The flat rooftops in the old town shone with frost and a purple sky wreathed itself around Barcelona. At the sound of the bells of Santa María del Mar, a cloud of black wings took to the air from a dovecote. The smell of the docks and the coal ash issuing from neighbouring chimneys was borne on a biting cold wind.
I went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. I glanced at the larder and was astonished. Since Isabella’s arrival in the house, it looked more like the Quílez grocer’s in Rambla de Cataluña. Among the parade of exotic delicacies imported by Isabella’s father, I found a tin of English chocolate biscuits and decided to have some. Half an hour later, once my veins were pumping with sugar and caffeine, my brain started to work and I had the brilliant idea of beginning the day by complicating my existence even further, if that was possible. As soon as the shops opened, I’d pay a visit to the one selling items for conjurers and magicians in Calle Princesa.
‘What are you doing up so early?’
Isabella, the voice of my conscience, was observing me from the doorway.
‘Eating biscuits.’
Isabella sat at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. She looked as if she hadn’t slept all night.
‘My father says this was the Queen Mother’s favourite brand.’
‘No wonder she looked so strapping.’
Isabella took one of the biscuits and bit into it distractedly.
‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do? About Sempere, I mean…’
She threw me a venomous look.
‘And what are you going to do today? Nothing good, I’m sure.’
‘A couple of errands.’
‘Right.’
‘Right, right? Or “Right, I don’t believe you”?’
Isabella set the cup on the table, her face as severe as that of a judge.
‘Why do you never talk about whatever it is you’re involved in with that man, the boss?’
‘Among other things, for your own good.’
‘For my own good. Of course. How stupid could I be? By the way, I forgot to mention that your friend, the inspector, came by yesterday.’
‘Grandes? Was he on his own?’
‘No. He came with two thugs as large as wardrobes with faces like pointers.’
The thought of Marcos and Castelo at my door tied my stomach in knots.
‘And what did Grandes want?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘What did he say, then?’
‘He asked me who I was.’
‘And what did you reply?’
‘I said I was your lover.’
‘Outstanding.’
‘Well, one of the large ones seemed to find it very amusing.’
Isabella took another biscuit and devoured it in two bites. She noticed me looking at her and immediately stopped chewing.
‘What did I say?’ she asked, projecting a shower of biscuit crumbs.
32
A sliver of light fell through the blanket of clouds, illuminating the red paintwork of the shopfront in Calle Princesa. The establishment selling conjuring tricks stood behind a carved wooden canopy. Its glass doors revealed only the bare outlines of the gloomy interior. Black velvet curtains were draped across cases displaying masks and Victorian-style apparatus: marked packs of cards, weighted daggers, books on magic, and bottles of polished glass containing a rainbow of liquids labelled in Latin and probably bottled in Albacete. The bell tinkled as I came through the door. An empty counter stood at the far end of the shop. I waited a few seconds, examining the collection of curiosities. I was searching for my face in a mirror that reflected everything in the shop except me when I glimpsed, out of the corner of my eye, a small figure peeping round the curtain of the back room.
‘An interesting trick, don’t you think?’ said the little man with grey hair and penetrating eyes.
I nodded.
‘How does it work?’
‘I don’t yet know. It arrived a few days ago from a manufacturer of trick mirrors in Istanbul. The creator calls it refractory inversion.’
‘It reminds one that nothing is as it seems,’ I said.
‘Except for magic. How can I help you, sir?’
‘Am I speaking to Señor Damián Roures?’
The little man nodded slowly, without blinking. I noticed that his lips were set in a bright smile which, like the mirror, was not what it seemed. Beneath it, his expression was cold and cautious.
‘Your shop was recommended to me.’
‘May I ask by whom?’
‘Ricardo Salvador.’
Any pretence of a smile disappeared from his face.
‘I didn’t know he was still alive. I haven’t seen him for twenty-five years.’
‘What about Irene Sabino?’
Roures sighed, muttering under his breath. He came round the counter and went over to the door. After hanging up the CLOSED sign he turned the key.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Martín. I’m trying to clarify the circumstances surrounding the death of Señor Diego Marlasca, whom I understand you knew.’
‘As far as I know, they were clarified many years ago. Señor Marlasca committed suicide.’
‘That was not my understanding.’
‘I don’t know what that policeman has told you. Resentment affects one’s memory, Señor… Martín. At the time, Salvador tried to peddle a conspiracy for which he had no proof. Everyone knew he was warming the widow Marlasca’s bed and trying to set himself up as the hero of the hour. As expected, his superiors made him toe the line and when he didn’t, they threw him out of the police force.’
‘He thinks there was an attempt to hide the truth.’
Roures scoffed.
‘The truth… don’t make me laugh. What they tried to hide was a scandal. Valera and Marlasca’s law firm had its fingers stuck in almost every pie that was being baked in this town. Nobody wanted a story like that to be uncovered. Marlasca had abandoned his position, his work and his marriage to lock himself up in that rambling old house doing God knows what. Anyone with half a brain could see that it wouldn’t end well.’
‘That didn’t stop you and your partner Jaco profiting from his madness by promising him he’d be able to make contact with the hereafter during your seances…’
‘I never promised him a thing. Those sessions were a simple amusement. Everyone knew. Don’t try to saddle me with the man’s death – because all I was doing was earning an honest living.’
‘And your partner, Jaco?’
‘I answer only for myself. What Jaco might have done is not my responsibility.’